The Fable of Fred
by The Frog of Wisdom
Summary: Four years have passed since Freaky Fred's last visit to Nowhere. He's just been released from the "Home for Freaky Barbers" on good behavior, and he takes it as a chance to return to his aunt and uncle's farm. When he arrives, the windmill that supplies the farm's electricity has stopped turning, rendering Fred unable to live out his fantasies - but that won't stop him for long.
1. Holiday

Muriel, bones cracking with age as she stood, rose from her bed with her typically cheerful smile. She stretched her aching body before reaching an arm out to her beloved pup, Courage. Her pudgy fingers brushed through the fuchsia fur on the top of the small dog's head, gently nudging a sleeping Courage.

"Courage," the woman softly called in a thick Scottish accent, "it's time to get up."

The young pooch's body stretched deeply, his eye's fluttering in a drowsy manner. He yawned, involuntarily snuggling back into the comforter. His bushy fur grazed against the cold flesh of a human foot – Eustace's foot to be exact.

"Huh?!" Eustace stirred from his sleep, jerking his foot away from the fur. He sat up quicker than normal, rubbing the sleep from one eye as he glared at Courage with the other. "Stupid dog! Can't you see I'm sleepin'?!"

"Eustace!" Muriel sternly warned, removing her polka-dotted sleeping cap and hanging it from the bedpost. "Come on, Courage; let's go make breakfast while Eustace gets a few more minutes sleep."

Courage quickly perked up from sleep. He swiftly hopped down from the bed, standing on only his hind legs as he typically did. Why no one ever questioned this (or any other of Nowhere's oddities) was beyond people living outside of this cozy neck of the woods. Using those hind legs, the pup followed his owner from the bedroom and down the rickety staircase that led to the den, then the kitchen.

"Courage," the white-haired woman sweetly began as she slammed a frying pan onto a stove burner, "could you pass me the eggs, please?"

Courage nodded, what remained of his tail was happily wagging. He quickly scurried over toward the fridge, rummaging passed jars of preserves to reach the egg carton. Once he had what was requested of him, Courage returned to Muriel with a smile, handing her one egg at a time until half of the dozen was being fried.

The smell of the eggs frying was enough to make Courage's mouth water. While he did eat dog food from time-to-time, Muriel's cooking was always a great treat. It was also a great treat to Eustace, who had just grumpily stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Muriel!" He grumbled, screeching his chair across the floor before sitting. "Where's my breakfast?"

Eustace predictably cracked open the daily newspaper and propped his feet up on the table. He glanced through a few articles, hardly paying attention to the words as his stomach demanded to have food with an obnoxious gurgling.

While Muriel continued to fry up the remaining eggs, Courage scuttled over to the kitchen table, hopping up into one of the four chairs. He sat across from Eustace, watching the old man's eyes gloss over the crumbled paper. He propped his furry chin on one of his paws, patiently waiting for breakfast to be served. He hummed softly to himself in order to keep up his patience.

The usual silence (aside from Eustace's coughs, Courage's hums, and the sound of sizzling) was interrupted by the high-pitched ringing of the telephone in the Bagges' kitchen. This sound never meant anything good in this part of the country, leaving the cowardly dog to cringe. He kept up hope that his naïve owner wouldn't answer, but that was never the case.

"Hello?" Muriel asked as she held the corded phone in one stumpy hand and the egg-filled pan in the other. "Oh, hello, Fred! It's so good to hear from my dear nephew again! What? You're coming for a visit? How lovely! Yes…. Yes, Courage is still here. Would you like to speak to him? Oh. Oh, okay. Goodbye, Fred; see you in the morning."

With a beaming grin, the elderly lady turned to her family. Her husband had been oblivious to the phone call as he grumbled under his breath, while Courage was shaking and whimpering with panic. She quickly gathered some plates, placing a spoonful of eggs onto each, and passed them around the table. As she took her seat, she looked to Eustace, who had immediately begun scarfing down the eggs in a wood chipper-type fashion.

"Isn't it wonderful, Eustace? Fred's coming for another visit with us," she said, beginning to stuff her face with her own egg platter.

"He's a freak!" Eustace snarled through a mouthful of eggs, bits of white and yellow fluff dropping from his lips and onto the tabletop. "He ain't steppin' one freaky foot in this house again!"

"Oh, Eustace, you just don't understand dear Fred. He's a very talented boy," the freaky man's aunt defended, her bespectacled eyes wandering over to Courage.

"Talented at being a weird-o," the grouch muttered, gumming the remainder of his eggs.

"Courage," Muriel began with a fret, watching as the young pooch quivered, "is something the matter?"

The purple-pink dog quickly jumped onto the table top, morphing his body into various shapes and monstrosities while frantically whimpering. His paws and tail flailed rapidly as he desperately tried to get his point across that Fred was indeed freaky.

"Courage!" The white-haired lady scolded, not because Courage was performing a Broadway show on her tabletop, but because she couldn't believe the things he had "said". "How could you say such things? Fred's a very nice boy. He's had a hard life, is all, and needs to get back on his feet."

"The dog's right, Muriel. That Fred's nothin' but trouble!" Eustace agreed with the rambling dog, which was a very rare occasion. His brows furrowed over his oval specks, which slipped down the bridge of his crooked nose. "Y'know why they had to send him to the freak farm for barbers, don't you? Because he's a freaky barber!"

At that moment, Muriel whacked her husband with a nearby rolling pin, taking away his plate as he rubbed his aching head.

"Oh, hush, Eustace!" She warned, placing the remaining dishes into the sink. "Fred can stay for as long as he needs."

"Yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah," Eustace angrily muttered under his breath, trying not to get whacked by another stray kitchen utensil. He folded his sickly-thin arms onto the tabletop before pushing himself away from the table. He stood from his chair, grabbing the keys to his truck from the countertop. "I'm goin' to the hardware store to pick up some tools for that busted pipe in the bathroom."

Without much acknowledgement from his family, the man with the bald-scalp shoved his keys into one of the pockets of his overalls. He exited the tiny, worn-down house with a slam of the rickety screen door. He walked down the creaking steps and started on his way to the hardware store, his truck giving an awful noise as it cranked and sputtered out of the non-existent driveway.

"Well, let's go get ready for Fred's visit, Courage," Muriel said with a smile, patting a stunned Courage on the head. She ruffled his fur with her fingers, fur that Courage could only hope he'd manage to keep once Fred arrived.

The woman and dog left their kitchen and headed up to the attic, where a small cot sat in the corner across from an old, bulky desktop computer. Muriel gathered a few folded sheets and blankets from the linen closet and swiftly began to make the bed. She piled a few pillows into Courage's unsuspecting arms, said pillows nearly causing his to drop to the floor. He wobbled to and fro, unable to see beyond the fluffy head-cushions.

"Thank you, Courage," the woman wearing the dark yellow dress and apron thanked, removing the pillows from Courage's arms and arranging them at the head of the bed. She fluffed them a bit to give them a little extra comfort, humming as she did so. "There. The bed's all nice and tidy. Come along now, Courage."

Courage stood there for a moment, turning his head toward the computer. He smiled as an idea popped into his fuzzy head. He frantically began pointing his paws toward the computer, jumping up and down like a child having a sugar-rush. He whined and whimpered as a way to make his statement clearer.

"Oh," Muriel chuckled, standing in the doorway, "you want to use the computer, do you? Well, I guess I'll let you alone for a while."

With that, the overweight woman continued down the stairs. The sound of her chair creaking and then rocking soon was heard upstairs, giving Courage the all-clear. The dog scrambled into the computer chair, hiking his hind legs up into the seat. He plopped down against the wooden surface, preparing to type his questions into the computer.

"Hello again, twit," the computer rudely greeted in a droning voice, the screen flashing in turquoise-blue glows. "How may I be of service to you today?"

* * *

_Hello, dear friends. We meet again. As you know, my name is Fred. I say, I said, "my name is Fred". The words you hear are __still__ in my head. When last we met, I was quite the threat. As you remember, I was very __**naughty**__._

_Here I sit in the bus terminal. You see, I'm going to visit my dear Aunt Muriel. She stays in Nowhere from where I left. How happy they'll be when I arrive, I'll bet! They'll call out my name; shout "hip-hip-hooray!" They'll_ _jump and they'll cheer all because dear Fred is here! I do hope they'll say that I look quite…. __**Naughty**__._

"Buses to Peach Creek, Foster's Home, and Nowhere are now boarding. Please have your tickets ready, and make sure to secure your luggage. Have a nice trip!"

_My bus is to Nowhere, and I am now boarding. My luggage is filled with the razors I'm hoarding. You see, I'm a barber with barbering things. I like to cut hair; it's sort of my thing. My dear Aunt Muriel has a fluffy little pup, whose hair I'd just love to cut and to cut. His name is Courage, and he has the most beautiful pink-purple fur-age._

_Last time I saw the tender D-O-G, these men in white jackets were called to get me. They whisked me away in the back of their truck, and hauled me away where I could not run amok. But now I've escaped from the dreary little farm; I only had to promise to not do any harm…. But I very well might get a little __**naughty**__._

_I'll ride on this bus all through the night. From right at this moment until morning's sunlight. Oh, how excited I am to once again see my hairy, little family of the number three! _

Fred, his crooked-toothed smile beaming from ear-to-ear, grabbed his luggage and headed for the gates. He smiled quite innocently (yet rather creepily) as he displayed his ticket to the woman.

* * *

Courage was frenziedly bashing his paws against the keyboard, somehow managing to type perfectly despite his lack of fingers. He typed in a series of words, stringing them in a fashion that the computer would recognize.

_Where is Freaky Fred today?_

"Well now, it's awfully rude to call someone "freaky"…. Although it does rather suit the man you want to know about. Anyhow, "Freaky" Fred, following his last visit to Nowhere, was thrown into the Home for Freaky Barbers. He resided there for nearly four years before being released for good behavior. His current whereabouts were to be monitored by the psychologists working on his case –"

"Yes!" Courage squealed happily, a wide smile showing off his even wider cavity.

"- But, sadly, the psychologists forgot to set the tracker and now have no way of knowing where Fred could be," the computer finished, instantly crushing the puppy's hopes for a clean getaway.

"No!" Courage howled with fear, quickly clamping his paws over his mouth when he heard a door from downstairs slam.

"Oh, Eustace, you're home," Muriel acknowledged with a soft smile, continuing to knit on her quilt. "Did you find everything you needed from the hardware store, dear?"

Eustace slouched, the hump in his back showing from within his plaid shirt. He plopped down in the chair across from Muriel, propping his feet onto the coffee table.

"Bah on that hardware store! They wanted twenty dollars for those cheap tools of theirs!"

"Oh? I heard their tools were rather nice."

"They're nothin' but junk! Besides, I've got plenty of better tools right here around the house."

Muriel set down her quilt, placing her needle and spool of thread into the wicker basket beside her rocking chair. She stood up, the floor moaning under the weight of her thick, black boots, and began to walk toward the door.

"Well, I'll just go hang up the laundry while you fix that old pipe. Oh, and, Eustace, would you check on Courage for me, please? He's up in the attic."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the old man muttered, crossing one foot over the other as he whipped out his trusty newspaper once more. It was clear that he hadn't heard a word his wife had said, even if he had, he clearly wasn't listening. You see, there's a big difference between hearing women and _listening_ to women.

The sound of the screen door shutting was the last sound aside from the paper crinkling that Courage could hear from downstairs. He finally felt safe enough to finish his research, even though he knew trouble was inevitable. He glanced over to the window, spotting Muriel's brittle hair and yellow dress drifting in the wind as she hung clothes.

_How do you activate the tracker?_

"Ah! I see, you want to try to activate the tracker yourself? Well, it's quite simple for someone with a high level of intelligence; but since you're the only who will have access, I suppose I could teach you. Now, to activate the tracker, you must know the secret phrase used by psychologists of the Home for Freaky Barbers. That secret phrase is –"

Suddenly, the lights gave a harsh flicker before abruptly cutting out into pure darkness. The computer gave an eerie sound of static before clicking to a blank screen.

"No! No! No!" Courage cried as sweat began beading (another abnormality for a dog) on his coat of fur. His paws pointlessly pounded on the keys of the keyboard. He smashed his purple paws onto the keyboard once more before climbing out of the chair. His head drooped as he inched his way out of the eerily black attic, hoping that the power would be restored shortly.

"Muriel!" Eustace could be heard screaming from downstairs, followed by the sound of the door creaking as he stepped onto the porch. "Muriel, is that darned windmill screwing' up again?"

Muriel turned to her short-tempered husband and then to the windmill. It had indeed stopped turning, but the reason was unknown. Luckily, Courage had already defeated the curse that was caused by the windmill stopping; so, this time, the only repercussion was having no electricity.

"Oh my," Muriel softly spoke to herself, her plump fingers resting on her bottom lip. "Eustace, you'd better come fix the windmill before you start working on the bathroom. We're going to need power for dear Fred's visit in the morning."

"_Cut the power! We don't want anyone getting shaved in there!" _Courage recalled one officers saying during Fred's previous visit. Maybe this power outage wasn't so bad after all.

"Thank goodness he can't actually fix anything!" Courage spoke to no one directly. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it was usually to an outside force (almost like an audience of people).

* * *

_I'm now sitting here on my bus. It's quite dark and quite lonesome, but I won't cause a fuss. There are a few others on the bus here, you see. But none of them deserving of a shave from me. No, there is but one little pup that I'd like to shave. Oh, how badly that purple fur I do crave!_

_We're hitting some bumps and the wheels are turning. All the while my thoughts are churning of just how soon I will be able to be __**naughty.**_

"Excuse me? Is this seat taken?"

"Hello, friend," the blonde barber chillingly spoke to the stranger. "My name is Fred. This seat is taken unless I am dead. But, I can assure you, I'm very much alive. By the morning, Nowhere is where I'll arrive."

The unknown passenger gave a disturbed glare to Fred before quickly fleeing to another seat toward the back of the bus. He leaned next to the person he sat beside, whispering about how the blonde man with the big, black suitcase was very weird. But what he didn't know was Fred wasn't weird at all. No, he was just very, very **naughty**.

* * *

Hours passed, the air being constantly disturbed by the sounds of Eustace smashing tools against the windmill. He moaned and groaned, angrily grumbling words that standards would not find very kid-friendly. His skinny fingers turned white, his knuckles poking out even worse than normal as he bashed a wrench at the base of the windmill. The wrench, however, wasn't happy with this treatment and decided to earn him some "time off" by breaking right in the man's hand.

"Cheap tools! Always breakin' when I'm trying to do somethin'…. Never gonna buy another tool as long as I live…. Stupid windmill."

The sky was now beginning to blur into a deep violet. The sun was beaming a cheery orange color on the otherwise white clouds. A few stars were beginning to sparkle as night was fast approaching.

Muriel was busy inside preparing for her nephew's visit. She was dusting and sweeping while Courage was busy cleaning the dishes. They both had a few bumps and scrapes after being forced to clean in the darkness of the house.

"Oh dear, I do hope Eustace can fix the power before it gets too late. It'll be time for bed soon," the housewife wearily said, resting her dust rag on the coffee table.

As he watched his owner slowly make her way upstairs, Courage desperately hoped that Eustace's streak of terrible fix-it jobs would continue. At that moment, Eustace burst through the door, grumbling and fussing as he waved a dented screwdriver in the air.

"I'm goin' to bed! That stupid windmill can wait until mornin'."

As the older "gentleman" stomped and heaved his way up stairs behind his wife, Courage, much to his relief, noticed that the power was still very much out.

"Thank goodness," the pup sighed, wiping his brow as he scurried up to bed.


	2. Fred's Arrival

Morning had quickly sneaked up upon the little farm house in the middle of Nowhere. The orange-tinted sunrise was the only source of light that poured through the Bagge's bedroom window. The sunrise was also the only source of light in the entire house.

Courage was the first to awaken. His heavy lids drowsily blinked before adjusting to the light. While his eyes had adjusted enough to see, they still hadn't adjusted enough to handle his sudden motion of jumping from the bed.

_BLAM!_

The poor pooch splatted against the floor, his purple face scrunching in a cartoony fashion. His yellowed, uncared for teeth gritted against the wood, but Courage simply brushed off the injury. He had a mission. That mission: Run to light switch and flick it on-and-off a number of times.

Incessant clicks echoed through the room as Courage's paw flipped the switch up, then down, and then up again…. And down again. Of course, once would have been enough to prove that the power was still out to Muriel or Eustace, but Courage was well aware of his luck, so the only way to be positive was to nearly break the blasted thing.

"Yes!" Courage exclaimed in a cheerful whisper.

A grunt was heard from the bed, leaving the dog to suspiciously look over his shoulder. Fortunately, the grunt was made from a deeply-sleeping Eustace. This left Courage with the freedom to quietly creak open the bedroom door and tip-toe (or tip-paw) his way downstairs.

The house was still and quiet. It was almost peaceful, but it still had its moments where you could feel an otherworldly chill tickle your spine. Courage scampered into the stillness of the den before making his way outside, his brilliant fur shining in the sunlight – a sight that a soon-to-be houseguest, Fred, would find very tempting. A gust of heated wind carried dry dust into Courage's fur, leaving him to become a walking hourglass as he scuttled over to the broken windmill.

A few broken tools lay around the base of the home's energy supplier. A dented wrench with splotches of rust still clung tightly to a bolt on the windmill. Courage grasped the wrench, placing all of his weight on the top to try to remove it. He pressed and pressed, panting and grunting in struggle, until the wrench gave way to its weakening rust. The forty-some-odd-year-old tool snapped clear in two, leaving only a small, metal stub of wrench behind.

The mischievous dog collected a toolbox from the side of the windmill, tossing the broken wrench and every other tool into the toolbox. He heaved it up to his chest and carried it off into the vast wasteland of Nowhere. Being a dog, Courage put one of his doggy talents to use; he began clawing feverishly at the dirt, digging a decent sized hole to bury the evidence of his "crime".

"I know he can't fix anything," Courage said to himself (and the outside force from before) with a look of worry, "but knowing my luck, he'd pick today to start."

"Courage! Oh, Courage!" Exclaimed the troubled voice of Courage's humanly mother as she stepped onto the porch. "Courage, where are you?"

Swiftly, Courage ran to his home, standing next to Muriel with an innocent smile. He followed her back into the house as she patted him on the head, a smile of relief on her wrinkled face.

"Don't worry me like that again, Courage. I thought you'd run off," Muriel warned, however, she was still happily smiling. "Now, would you like to help me straighten up a bit more before Fred arrives?"

While the canine could list off millions of reasons why he didn't want to, he decided to help the older woman. He made his way to the couch, fluffing a few of the pillows and straightening the throw over the base. As he fixed the top of the couch, Muriel was sweeping up a few stray dust bunnies from underneath the couch. When she had finished, Courage held the dust pan for her, dumping the dust and dirt into the garbage.

"Muriel! Where's my newspaper?" Eustace yelled, stomping his way into the den, plopping down onto the couch.

"Oh, Eustace, Courage just fixed that couch!" the grump's wife scolded. She, however, calmed rather quickly, rummaging through her apron's pocket. "Here you are, Eustace."

Instead of saying "thanks" or showing appreciation in any form, the man grunted and took the paper. He cracked it open, glancing through articles before turning the page. A particular ad caught his eye, making him hot under the collar as he read.

"Can you believe it? That hardware store now wants _thirty_ dollars for a wrench! If people had any sense they'd be more like me. Yes, sir, I've had the same wrench for forty years and it ain't givin' me any trouble yet."

Courage gave a nervous look and chuckle, his eyes glancing to the floor. However, he didn't pull this stunt as a prank or joke; this was for the sake of the hair of him and his family (not that Eustace had any to worry about).

"Oh, that reminds me, you'd better go finish fixing up that windmill, Eustace. Fred will be here any minute," the white-haired lady sweetly reminded her bitter husband of their little problem.

She sat down in her rocker, Courage jumping into her lap for a back rub. Eustace watched as his wife petted the dog's dusty fur, scowling as he looked on. Muriel was always a kind woman, but Eustace just couldn't understand her affection for that bothersome mutt. He griped as he stood, tossing his newspaper onto the table.

"Yeah, yeah; you just let me know when the lights are workin' again."

The elder exited the house and approached the windmill. His lanky hand gripped the end of his wrench…. Well, he thought his hand gripped the end of his wrench. He pulled at the air for a moment before a look of confusion fell on his face.

"Wait just a minute…." He muttered, his brow knitting when he noticed that he wasn't gripping anything at all. "Huh?! Now, where'd I put that wrench? Could've sworn I left it right here."

* * *

_Good morning! Hello! How nice to see you! The sun is shining and the day is brand new! I'm still on my bus, haven't slept all night. I was just too excited to sleep tight! I gaze out my window. What's this I see? Oh, there's Uncle Eustace ready to greet me!_

_Look at him waving and carrying on. He must have so missed me in the time I was gone!_

"Now arriving in Nowhere," the driver of the bus announced as he pulled the lever to open the doors. "Our next stop: Endsville!"

Fred stood from his seat; his abnormally long and thin legs ached from the overnight trip. He picked up his black tote of barbering terrors and walked down the long floor of the bus. He approached the driver, smiling his signature smile.

"Thank you, kind driver, for bringing me to my aunt's little shack. I'll return in a week for you to take me back. Until then, I thank you and bid you adieu. You see, I'm in a rather… pleasant mood."

"Uh… yeah," the driver awkwardly replied, unaware of how to react to one of his more-bizarre passengers (and he had seen quite a few oddballs). The driver, unwilling to keep this blonde anomaly on his bus any longer than needed, gave a hasty kick to Fred's backside. The credulous barber bounced down the stairs and onto the dusty plain of the farm.

"Oh, dear, do you suppose I offend?" Fred casually joked to the same invisible audience that Courage so often spoke to.

The man stood from the ground, brushing the debris from his olive-green suit. He straightened his tie and picked up his luggage, slowly making his way over his flailing uncle.

"Uncle Eustace," Fred happily pronounced as he opened his arms for a hug. Without a moment to spare, he wrapped his gangly arms around Eustace's boney back, hugging the man from behind. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I saw you waving from the bus. I never expected for such a grand fuss!"

"What?! Get off of me!" A startled Eustace protested, wriggling out of his creepy nephew's (through marriage, thank God) grip. He swatted at the man, shooing him away. "Listen, freak, I'm a little busy here. The windmill's busted and I can't find my wrench to fix it."

"Ha, ha, ha," the nephew chuckled, grinning at Eustace's frustration. "Oh, I've so missed your spunk, uncle! Now, where are dear Aunt Muriel and that wonderful, little Courage?"

"In the house," Eustace responded, scratching at his head as he searched the ground with his eyes. After giving his response, the farmer would only mutter things to himself. "Maybe I _did_ put the tools in the shed."

The two men then went separate ways, Fred heading toward the house and Eustace toward the shed. Fred approached the porch, his black boots tapping against the wooden stairs. As his bright green eyes (which were only green where most persons' are white) looked down, another toothy grin appeared on his face. He gave a kind wave to Courage, who was placing a rug down in front of the door.

_What a sweet pup, helping Aunt Muriel with a bit of tiding up! Just look at the fur gathering dirt and dust. It'll grow yucky, so shave it I must! There is my reason, and it's certainly no lie. No, it's indeed no excuse for me to be _**naughty**.

"Hello, Courage," the blonde greeted through the slightly-torn screen on the door. "Could you let me in, please?"

Courage's eyes grew wide as his pupil's shrunk. Panic struck his fuzzy face as he twisted his head toward the voice. He left off a short scream before clamping his mouth shut, not wanting to attract any bad attention from Muriel.

"Courage?" Muriel questioned, having heard the short-lived shout. She entered the room from the kitchen, where she had been busily sweeping, and approached Courage. "Courage, what's the matter? Oh, Fred's here. How lovely!"

* * *

An awkward hour of small talk had ticked by as Fred and his aunt sat in the den, sipping on cups of hot tea that Muriel had made prior to the power-outage, which had also depleted their water supply.

"I'm so sorry about the stale tea, Fred. Our windmill gave out on us yesterday morning, so I haven't been able to fix a fresh kettle."

Fred sipped against the tea, slurping down the warm liquid. He set the cup upon a saucer before placing the dishes onto the table. He wiped the brown liquid from his lips and onto his suit's sleeve.

"Oh, it's quite alright, Aunt Muriel. I wouldn't want any trouble on my account." He explained, placing his hands into his lap. "Although, I do rather wish I could freshen up."

Muriel smiled as an idea came to mind. While she knew the water from the well wouldn't be the greatest bating water, it would still do for a quick washing.

"Well, if you don't mind a little cold water," she began, giving Courage a pet on the head, the hound's head poking up from his sleep, "Courage here could go fetch you some water from the well."

Courage made a small whimper, which sounded like a worried question. He looked to Muriel with a startled face, then to Fred with an unhappy one. He stood up from the floor, gently clawing at the hem of Muriel's yellow dress. He made his constant whimpers, jabbing his fingers toward his cousin.

"You hush that nonsense! Now, go show Fred to the well, Courage. And, please, see if Eustace is almost done fixing the windmill."

The normally well-tempered pooch huffed, slouching his shoulders as he walked passed Fred, who stood to follow suit. Courage led Fred to the door, allowing him to exit first as a way to show Muriel he was playing nice.

Banging and swears wafted from the shed to the well. It was clear that Eustace was still frantically searching for his tools in a quest to prove his sanity to himself. As he rummaged through gardening supplies and multiple spider webs, the windmill was left damaged.

Courage couldn't help but smirk at the man's unhappiness. It wasn't that Courage liked hearing Eustace struggle, but as long as the farmer was struggling, the windmill would stay broken. If the windmill remained broken, the power would remain out, and Fred's torturous razors would remain useless. Courage's chuckling stopped as he reached the well, showing it to Fred with a dull expression.

_Poor little Cur, he doesn't seem too happy. It does make my heart drop, not to sound sappy. But how could he be so down with a coat of fur so grand – so profound. Those luxurious locks are unlike any I've seen. So colorful, so full of defects! So very perfectly-imperfect! Those big black dots against pink-purple fuzz…. They do so beckon for me to be _**naughty**.

"The well, how swell!" Fred commented as he leaned over the stone sides of the well. He looked at the refreshing water, his reflection beaming up at him. His eyes left his reflection and focused on Courage's, that brilliant fur rippling on the water's surface. "Do be a good dog and fetch me a bucket."

Courage's reflection tilted along with the actual dog's head, causing the water to glimmer against the magenta blur. His paw smacked against his forehead and ran down his face, nearly pulling his eyes from their sockets before they sprung back into place. He pointed to the bucket that dangled above the water; he then pointed to the rope that secured the bucket.

"Ah, yes! Ha, ha, silly me," the man laughed at himself, placing his hand on his own forehead. "Must have been a little distracted. Thank you, Courage."

The sound of the bucket dropping into the water soon joined the chorus of Eustace's slow descent into insanity.

"How can tools just vanish? Did I take them into the house? I must've… right? Oh, who needs electricity anyway… wait… without electricity, I won't have TV to watch while the weird-o's here!"

A flash of dark green, red, and pale skin passed by the well and toward the house. Courage and Fred both stopped lifting the water, looking on with confused faces. It was clear that the blur was Eustace, but when did he learn to move so fast? He usually never wanted to move at all!

"Muriel! Have you seen my tools?!... MURIEL!"

The hound snickered, keeping the whereabouts of his owner's tools kept tucked away. Sure, Courage was unhappy with the situation anyway, but at least the blackout meant he could keep his fur.

After much labor and many buckets of water, Fred and his canine cousin entered the home of the Bagge's. They both were running low on energy, causing Muriel to rush to their aid with a cup of tea and a bowl for Fred and Courage, respectively. She ladled a small amount of water from one of the nine buckets into the bowl for her pup.

"My, you boys certainly did a good job bringing in all this water," she complimented the two with affection. "If you don't mind, I'll take one of the buckets for drinking water. The rest you can carry upstairs to fill the tub."

"Of course, Aunt Muriel, take as much as you'd need. I wouldn't want to be a burden or leech."

"Oh goodness, Fred, you're no burden at all," the woman said with chipper, heaving one of the buckets from the ground and whisking it away to the kitchen.

Eustace sat at the kitchen table, his protruding chin resting in the palms of his hands. His head shook to and fro before dropping to smash against the table. His weak hands balled into fists and drummed against the surface.

"Aw, don't worry, Eustace," Muriel soothed, rubbing her husband's spine. "I'm sure your tools will turn up soon."

"Ugh!" The husband grunted as his head stayed squished against the tabletop.


	3. The Narrow Escape

As Muriel tried to calm her husband, Fred and Courage were busy carrying the pales of water to the bath. Fred had a content smile on his elongated face while Courage followed behind with a weary frown. The buckets of water that the barber was carrying were filled to the brim (he had three up each arm), but Fred had no trouble. Despite the thinness of his arms, years of lugging around heavy razors in black totes had become an advantage in more ways than one.

_I still don't like this! _Courage thought to himself; his consciousness was only half with him as he carried the two remaining buckets. The water drops that sloshed onto his fur from Fred's buckets didn't faze the pondering pooch. _I just know something bad is going to happen! This is not good! _

"Courage?" Fred asked, tilting his head around to view the pup. "Your hands aren't nearly as full as mine. Could you open the door, if you'd be so kind?"

Courage set down his two buckets, taking care not to spill any of the water on the floor. He walked to the bathroom door, moving onto his "tip-paws" in order to reach the knob. He took in a deep breath as he pushed open the door and stepped aside.

"Thank you, kind dog," the green-eyed man said, his boots clacking against the floor as he entered the bathroom. He turned to face Courage once again, his eyes filled with hunger. "Well, don't just stand there. Now do come along."

The furry cousin looked down to the floor, gulping quite verbally. He hiked up his buckets once again, carrying them to the fiendishly-obsessed visitor. His paws pitter-pattered across the floor as he reached the tub where he proceeded to empty both pales. He swiftly turned away, wanting to make a fast and easy escape this time.

"Please do not leave, there's much more water to pour!" Fred exclaimed, closely examining Courage's coat, eyeing it with awe. Of course, he could easily accomplish the chore himself, but that wouldn't earn him the pleasure of shaving such exotic fur.

Fred leaned his towering body over Courage, his hand pushing the door shut in front of the mutt's face. His extended fingers turned the lock – the click of death (or at least baldness) sounded.

"You won't need to open that door. Now, Courage, come closer, and let me explain all about how I came to be so **naughty**."

Courage quivered with fear, his rotten teeth chattering and causing his body to bounce across the floor. The comical movement, however, wasn't very funny at the time. Once he had stopped being a human (or doggy) jackhammer, Courage was scooped up into his cousin's arms. Fred cradled him tenderly against his green suit, pressing the crave-able fur into the polyester, leaving the pup to squirm and wriggle.

The blonde man waltzed over to the toilet, placing Courage onto the lid as he had during his last holiday. He patted the fluff on the top of Courage's head, ruffling it and then flattening it down again. He hurried to break out his black tote, yanking it up and dropping it on the edge of the sink. His lips curled around his broken teeth in a Cheshire grin as he cracked open the bag for the first time in days. Hungry eyes examined the contents heavily.

_Now, now, Fred, do not get thoughtless. This is your one chance to get past the test, so you must make your efforts the best. But all of my blades, they're so wonderfully bright! I know…. This one! Yes, it'll do right! Oh, just look at those edges and that metallic sheen! Is it really any wonder why I'm so keen?_

Sweat began to bead on the barber's head, drenching his blonde locks. His heart was beating right through his suit, the fabric showing an increase in breath. He shivered with excitement as he pulled out his electric blade, grabbing the large, red base, placing a trembling finger over the button. His other hand forcefully held a whimpering Courage down to the lid as Fred inched ever closer.

"You see, my dear pooch, I wasn't born this way," Fred began with a somber voice, eyes transfixed to the floor. He looked up to the fuzzy face before him, weakly smiling before moving away from the dog. He waltzed to the window, leaning on the pane much like before. He pushed open the curtains and gazed upon the farm below. "In fact, this obsession came on just an ordinary day. I cut the hair of women, my dear Barbara was the first… then the men came along as this obsession grew much worse."

Courage's eyes were wide with fear as his dilated pupils followed Fred to the window. His dark ears flopped as he tilted his head with confusion. Out of all the families in the world, why did his have to spawn a Dr. Seuss-speaking-barber-with-an-Uncle-Jesse-hair-obsession? When last the man came to town, he spoke of his Barbara, so why was he telling this all again? But, there was nothing else Courage could do, so he listened to the haunting nursery rhyme.

"Furry, little animals and children followed close. They tried to cure me of my mind with medication of a lethal dose. The doctors were quite able as they returned from the brink, but they just could not rid me of these **naughty** thoughts I think."

The heels of Fred's boots scuffed the floor as he twirled around to face Courage, his arms reaching behind him to hold the window pane. His head hung remorsefully before lifting leisurely, creepily. His large eyebrows raised as his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. A thin smile spread over his face, stretching wider and wider until his teeth touched both of his ears. Thoughts of pushing the button his finger lingered on, turning on the razor, and running the blade through that precious doggy-dog's fur was almost too much. Fred felt as light as air though his mind was weighed down with all these thoughts. It was ecstasy, pure bliss. The whole experience of turning on the razor and watching the pointed blades thrust from inside the cartridge was orgasmic… or, better yet, very **naughty. **

"They placed me in a tiny room where the walls were rather soft. Others said it was a prison, but I found it to be a cozy, little loft. I sat there day after day, watching as time quickly ticked away. Each minute I would grin from ear-to-ear as I thought of different ways to shave your fur, my doggy dear. You see, your purple-pinkish fur is something oh-so rare. It's unlike any fuzz I've seen, so, don't worry, I'll take care. I'll gently trim the fluff from the skin and place it in my kit. I want to do this perfectly, so very, very, _very _still is the way that you must sit."

With the rhyme over and his plot laid on the table, Fred approached the cowering dog. He patted the top of Courage's head, ruffling the fur he craved. To his delight, Courage had taken his advice to heart, holding perfectly still as the barber's sheers loomed ever closer.

_This is it! My fiendish fantasy's coming true! Oh, where should I start; oh, what should I do? Should I start with the purple that rests along his back? Or dare I begin with those dark splotches of brilliant black? Oh my! Oh me! I'll start with the pink, I do believe... No, no, do not rush, dear Freddy! You can only enjoy it if you start when you're ready._

_Just take a moment to soak in the wonderful pelt. But it's so tempting, I fear I may melt! My, oh, my, how my hands are trembling! I'm shaking, I'm sweating! This is simply intoxicating! It's settled then, I'll begin right away. Yes, yes, right now, I say!_

With those racing thoughts blurring into mindless gibberish, Fred leaned over a statue-stiff Courage. The man's blonde hair was soaking with sweat, the liquid beading and dropping onto the poor pooch's head. The barber drew back his razor high into the hair, swinging it forward with the greatest of ease, and thrust it into the pelt of his victim.

_CLICK... CLICK!_

Suddenly, all those teasing thoughts fell away, as did Fred's giant smile. A wide frown fell upon his face as he desperately, repeatedly pushed the button of his razor.

_What is this? Why isn't this working? What the heck is wrong?! The fur isn't falling, the razor's not buzzing! What is going on?! _

Fred looked down, eyes glazed with the evidence of a broken heart. He noticed that a slight smirk rested on Courage's still-very-fluffy face. He could hardly believe that his razor would go dead at a time like this.

_My razors, they've died on that most awful bus ride. No matter, I'll place them on their chargers and being shaving that fur in no time…. But, no, I cannot. There's no electricity because the windmill has stopped. _

_No, this can't happen, it just can't be! To start them again, electricity is key! That windmill has to start up a-gain! It must start again if I want to stay sane! That windmill has to be fixed and fixed today! I'll go get Uncle Eustace straight away. But first what to do about young, tender Cur? I can't let him escape with that wonderful fur! _

_I know! I can play on him a trick. I'll give him my razors and around he will stick. Having my razors will make him feel secure; all the while, Uncle Eustace will work on getting the lights restored._

The blonde calmed himself with a heaving breath. He pulled away his razor, noticing the smirk on Courage's face grow larger. Fred ran a rough fingertip over the tip of his blade as he walked back to his tote. He dropped the useless tool back into his barber's kit, clamping it shut and picking it up from the sink. Once his tools were gathered, he approached his cousin with a convincing smile and a chuckle.

"Tender Courage," he began with a soft, yet sly, voice, "you realize my blades are things I'm never caught without. They're of highest importance to me, beyond a reasonable doubt. But, if you promise to treat them nicely, I'll make you quite the deal. I'll let you keep my razors until Uncle Eustace can fix the windmill."

Courage's eyes widened with excitement as the bag was placed into his lap. He wrapped both arms around the kit, which was twice as large as he was. There was no way – even if Hell froze over, even if pigs started flying out of peoples' bums, even if the fat lady sang – that Fred would ever get his arsenal back. Of course, it wasn't because Courage was smart enough to hide it away or destroy it, but only because Eustace was too stupid to fix the windmill… ever.

"Deal!" Courage squeaked, hardly able to contain his joy. He sprung from the lid of the toilet, being pulled down instantly by the freaky barber's tote. His purple-pink face smashed against the cold bathroom floor, but Courage hardly minded. Nothing could break his excitement at this point. After all those years, he felt he was finally in a situation where he couldn't lose.

"Ha, ha, ha," Fred giggled into his hand, concealing his sinister smirk. He followed Courage to the bathroom door, unlocking it with promise. He patted the pup on the back, scooting him out into the hallway. "Playful little cub. Now do run along so I can get in the tub."

Courage was shaking as he struggled against the weight of the bag. Despite this shuddering, his smile hadn't wavered. He glanced behind him, beaming at the closed bathroom door. He couldn't be more grateful that he was on this side and Fred was on the other.

"Courage!" Muriel called from downstairs after an awfully long silence. "Have you finished filling the bath yet? I need you to come help me harvest the carrots from the garden for lunch."

* * *

That was it, Fred was alone. Well, not quite alone. He still had himself, which meant he had an infinite amount of thoughts with him. So, why he may have been alone in the room, he was far from lonely.

He brushed his olive blazer off of his enormously-broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His shirt, pants, tie, and undergarments soon joined his blazer in the pile of laundry on the floor, leaving the man's un-proportional body completely bare.

The blonde dipped his toes into the tub, shivering at the cold well water. Regardless of the temperature, he climbed into the tub, lowering himself into the unforgiving water. It sent chills up his spine, which was visible through the skin on his back, and made his legs rush to his chest for warmth.

_What's a little cold water when there's hair to be shaved? I cannot give up on the hair I most crave. Oh, the feelings I have for the oddity that is Cur, but stronger are the feelings I have for his fur._

_If the electricity isn't back within the hour, I'll just have to help Uncle Eustace fix the power. I'm sure that two brains are far better the one, and then I can go back to having my fun. Yes, once that windmill is back up and running, I can get back to being oh-so… _**naughty.**

_Yes, that idea is just fine! Run now, young Courage, but soon you'll be mine._


	4. The Lunch Bunch

The sound of chopping filled the air as Muriel feverishly chopped away at the fresh-picked carrots on her cutting board. The sloshing of water joined this cooking musical as Courage dunked a head of lettuce into the remaining pale of water.

Courage was beaming from floppy ear-to-ear as he rinsed the lettuce. He was ecstatic that he'd actually gotten out of the fiasco upstairs unscathed. Although, there was still the intrusive thoughts of things going horribly wrong, but paranoia was no stranger to Courage. In fact, paranoia was a pretty common thing to Courage; you could say they went hand-in-hand. But, until that bridge came, Courage continued to smile and wash the vegetables Muriel handed him.

"What a good job you're doing, Courage! Now take these dishes to the table while I shred up the lettuce," Muriel sweetly commanded, trading the stack of dishes in her hands for the head of lettuce in Courage's. She smiled as she watched her pet carry the plates over to the table, acting as if this was completely normal behavior for a dog.

Courage, too short to reach the tabletop from the floor, hopped into one of the four chairs and began to slide the dishes into place. He placed the first one at Eustace's seat, where the older man sat immersed in thought, the second at his beloved Muriel's seat, the third for himself, and then he stopped. He slid the fourth plate at the place of the chair that normally remained empty except for on days like this. Days where a strange, horrible creature (in this case, Fred) would pop in for a surprise stay at the Bagges'.

His paw rested on the center of the plate, his eyes transfixed to the china. The silence was overwhelming in the kitchen; only the sounds of lettuce being ripped was heard in the fuzzy distance. He shouldn't be doing this. This plate didn't belong, but it had to be placed regardless. Still, Courage was unable to look away from the plate, wondering why his family of three so often had to use this fourth plate.

"Hello, family," came the voice that ran the pup's train of thought right off the tracks. "I'm back from the bath as you can see. What's this? A beautiful, green, leafy lunch? I'm sure that fresh lettuce will give a mighty great crunch!"

"Yes, Fred," Muriel chirped with a smile as she mixed the vegetables into a large bowl, which she then promptly carried to the table, "the harvest has been rather nice to us this year. One of the best we've had in nearly three years!"

Fred smiled back at his aunt in his twisted manner. His shoes clacked along the wooden floor as he scuttled over to the table. He glanced to Courage as he pulled his chair out in order to sit. With a swift motion, the barber took his seat, his head swiveling to view the dog.

Muriel placed the bowl of veggies in the center of the table for everyone to reach. She placed a decent amount on both hers and Eustace's plates, letting Courage and Fred scoop their own. Courage was the first to reach for the tongs sticking out from the oversized wooden bowl, but it wasn't long before his so-called cousin reached out as well. Fred's rake-like fingers wrapped around the tongs, consuming Courage's paw in the process, as a means of examining the texture of that fur he so longed for.

Courage's brow arched with surprise as his pupils slowly drifted toward Fred. He quickly looked away when he felt the unnerving stare of his relative. A wave of concern washed over the young pup as he wriggled his paw out of Fred's grip, allowing the barber to draw from the bowl first.

"My, my, Uncle Eustace, you certainly look down," Fred began as he acknowledged his uncle's slumped posture. "Tell me; just what is the cause of that horrible frown? Aunt Muriel has made us a scrumptious lunch, yet you sit there so deep in the dumps. I know there's a reason that you are so sad –"

"I'm goin' to look for my tools!" Eustace rudely interrupted his nephew as he stood from his chair, exiting the room in a fit of grumbles.

"Eustace! Eustace, at least take your lunch outside to eat while you look," the only woman in the home called to her husband, worry on her face. She quickly excused herself from the table as she collected the farmer's plate of lettuce, carrying it behind him as he slammed the door.

The muffled sounds of the man's grumbles and the woman's pleas slowly faded to silence, leaving Courage and his freaky family member alone in the kitchen. Fred had already begun eating, keeping a sharp eye on the dog beside him as he chewed.

"You've been taking care of my blades, I'm sure," the blonde chuckled as specks of lettuce and carrots flung from his mouth, landing into Courage ruffled fur. "Oh dear, it looks as though I've made a mess of that lovely fur. What a shame! If only my razors were charged, your fur I could tame."

The young pup's eyes slowly left his plate, and fixated upon Fred's crooked teeth, which beamed through his mile-wide smile. He shivered in his pelt as an unsettling chill filled the kitchen. Courage took great care to avoid eye contact with his cousin, staying focused only upon those discolored teeth.

As Fred raised his fork once again, the cuff of his sleeve raised to reveal a rather hairy arm. His wristband, which was no longer part of his everyday apparel, had left behind a patch of hairless, significantly-paler skin. The fact that the wristband was no longer there caused Courage to begin questioning himself, wondering what would come of him should the windmill begin turning before the week was up.

He remembered the number being something very simple, something he should be able to remember; this wasn't the case, however, as the simplest of things was always the first to slip from someone's mind. Courage was mentally bashing his head repeatedly into the table while physically he scooted his chair a short distance away from his creepy company. As his mind feverishly tried to remember the correct number of the institution, he silently chewed on the tasteless lettuce on his plate. He mindlessly chewed, his eyes fixated on Fred, who was also chewing quite slowly as he, too, was consumed by his thoughts.

_Oh, sweet, tender, little pup! I can hardly contain these feelings that are doing summersaults in my chest! I must have his fur; it's the very best of the best! Beautiful fuchsia fur such as that would make quite lovely a suit and hat! Such wonderful things it could weave; but, alas, I've been forced to deceive. _

Courage watched as Fred's facial expression dropped, his eyes falling to the floor as he fell into his psychosis. His heavily-pointed jaw fell into the palm of his hand and he drew in a deep sigh. Courage had seen many discouraged faces, but this was beyond that of discouragement, this was the face of pure depression. Fred was currently the physical representation of raw angst.

_The blades of that windmill will never turn with Uncle Eustace's tools missing. How could I have been so foolish? So positively dismissing?! But if I don't shave the little pooch post-haste…. Oh, I'm afraid I'll do something irrational, full of distaste. _

_Oh my, I feel so utterly naked without my glorious blades. Dear, oh dear, why won't this panic fade?! I must regain my razors so lovely! But how to do so without drawing the attention of dear aunt, uncle, and puppy?_

Fred's extraordinarily lengthy legs pushed him away from the table as he stood. He cleared his throat in order to gain some stability to his anxious voice. His wild eyes looked to the ball of fluff beside him as he leaned into the table.

"Do please excuse me, dear doggy-dog. I've suddenly come down with a headache, and my mind is in a great fog. Do tell Aunt Muriel that her lunch was a grand, tasty treat, but I've gone upstairs to rest my feet."

Courage drew in a sigh of relief once his cousin left the room. All thoughts escaped him as he took the time to hurriedly scarf down the food from both his and Fred's plates.

* * *

The remainder of the day passed without incident, mainly due to Fred being tucked away in the bedroom for the remainder of the afternoon and the evening. In fact, he'd been so quiet and withdrawn that Muriel had become worried. She finally made her way upstairs to the attic where her nephew was staying, carrying a tray of the same stale kettle of tea from earlier.

Her pudgy fist knocked on the attic door as she balanced the tray with one hand and a knee. Instead of a vocal response, Muriel could only faintly hear a quiet scuttling followed by the squeaks and creaks of their old spare mattress.

"Fred?" The white-haired woman worriedly asked as she pushed open the door and resituated the tray in her hands. "Fred, dear, are you alright? We haven't seen hide or hair of you since lunch."

Fred's discolored eyes weakly drifted to his aunt's not-so-attractive frame. He gave a soft, toothy grin as he sat up to rest against the headboard. The blonde barber was fully prepared to give a grand performance. Do you know a better way to win over a woman's sympathy than playing the pity card? I thought not.

"Oh, dear Aunt Muriel, I am just fine. I suppose I'm just tired from that long bus ride of mine. You see my feet, they do ache; my legs, they do quake. My head and my vision are as squiggly as spaghetti! And, I must say, my eyes have grown rather heavy."

Muriel made a sound of understanding as she placed the tray of tea onto the nightstand next to the bed. She patted her nephew on the head as she turned to leave the room.

"Ah, I guess I've forgotten how tiresome those bus trips can really be," she stated as she reached for the light switch. Suddenly, her hand stopped and she giggled at her moment of idiocy. Seeing as it had grown dark out, it only felt natural to want to turn the lights out; but alas, the windmill had already made sure of that. "Hee, hee, silly me. Well, you get some rest now, Fred, and I'll see you in the morning."

"Of course, Aunt Muriel, and thank you for the tea. Now, do have a good night and look after Uncle Eustace and Courage for me."

"Oh, you've always been such a thoughtful boy. I just can't understand why anyone wouldn't like you."


End file.
